The Templar & The Assassin
by SophieAnnWard
Summary: Haytham and Connor try to get along. Key word; try. just an idea I had :3
1. A Walk Through The Woods

_**AN: Aha, so yeah I've always been interested in Haytham and Connor's relationship (or lack thereof) and yanoe, was like, I want to write this. So yeah, I was thinking a few chapters just describing different situations they'd get in...tell me what you think ^^ I tried to keep them in character but since it's my first time writing them well...I'm not sure if I got it all down right aha ^^''**_

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**The Templar & The Assassin**

**A Walk In The Woods**

"What are you doing up there? Stop hopping around in tree's like an animal and come down!" The only reply Haytham Kenway received was a grunt.

Haytham had only just been acquainted with his estranged son, and had hoped to gain some sort of relationship with him (where it didn't involve them trying to kill each other), and of course have him join the Templar Order, however Connor seemed hell bent on being obstinate and as difficult as possible—not to mention stubborn like his mother.

"What's the problem, Father? Can't you keep up?" Connor taunted, lazily making his way across the tree branches a few paces ahead of his father. He smirked when his dark brown eyes connected with Haytham's pale blue ones, recognizing the spark of irritation in them.

_Father generally has that look in his eyes when around me. _Connor mused to himself. Allowing a chuckle to escape his lips, he hummed as an idea formed in his head.

Haytham watched as his son gracefully jumped a small gap and landed lithely on the next branch, though it did dip considerably under his weight.

He didn't know how he had allowed himself to be cajoled by the young man to accompany him for a 'walk' through the forest. If he knew that by 'walk' Connor had meant tree climbing, Haytham would have refused point blank.

_Enjoy nature, he said. Father son bonding, he said. _Haythem scowled when he stepped in something brown that smelt none too pleasant, and vowed to never follow Connor anywhere ever again.

Years of training, however, made him instantly alert to the fact that it had gone quiet…_too _quiet. He strained his ears whilst staying perfectly still for any sign of his son.

"Connor?" Haytham called, peering around in the thick foliage, waiting to catch a glance of white that would signify where his son was.

"Boo." Connor whispered in a monotone. Haytham turned around and with lightening reflexes (especially for someone of his age), he punched the offending person in the face. He realised that it had been Connor he had punched, who had been hanging upside off of a branch behind him.

Glancing down at the younger man haughtily, he made no move to help him up. Instead, he watched with an air of indifference as Connor pulled himself to his feet. Gingerly touching his nose, Connor winced and let his hands drop to his sides.

"You punched me!" he exclaimed, sending Haytham and accusatory glare. Brown eyes clashed with blue ones and for a few minutes nothing was said as both men squared up to each other.

"You snuck up on me. Perhaps if you had listened to me in the flirt place and had walked on the ground like a _normal _person, this could have been avoided." Haytham replied, falling into step beside Connor.

"There was no need to react to violently." Connor murmured, pulling his hood up so it obscured most of his face. Haytham could see him pouting though, and rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Stop being so childish." He commanded, roughly pulling the hood down.

"That hurt." Connor pulled his hood up again and slapped Haytham's hand that came up to pull it down again.

"Oh, I'm sorry; did you want me to hold your hand and kiss it better?" Haytham retorted, his voice heavily laced with sarcasm. His eyebrows rose mockingly and watched as Connor scowled at him.

As the duo made their way deeper into the forest, Haytham noticed with increasing worry that the sky was an inky black, with only the moon to light their way; the tree's cast threatening shadows over the two men as they continued their walk.

Connor noticed (with some satisfaction) that his father seemed twitch every time a bush rustled, or whenever the wind would howl through the tree's and ruffle their leaves.

"Connor, I suggest you to lead the way back now." Haytham ordered more than anything else. His eyes narrowed as Connor ignored him; he was _not _used to being ignored. Seething, he roughly grabbed Connor's arm and spun him around.

"_Now_." They stared at each other in a battle of wills, but Haytham came out the victor.

"Fine." Connor all but slapped his father's hand away from him and stalked back the way they came, his hood obscuring his face form view.

It soon became painfully obvious to both of them that they were in fact, lost. When the pair had passed the same suspiciously shaped tree, Haytham huffed and stopped walking altogether. He rubbed his hands in a vain attempt to warm them up, and watched as his breath came out in icy swirls.

"We're lost." Haytham deadpanned, watching as a myriad of emotions flitted across his sons face. Finally, Connor settled for an indignant look which he wasted no time in sending to Haytham.

"We are not _lost_." He stressed, swirling around and yanking his hood down so he could run his fingers through his hair. A few strands came loose of his low ponytail in his agitation, and he didn't bother to put them back in place.

"Great! Just great! First of all you go gallivanting around in trees like…like some sort of _animal_, and then you get us lost! Unbelievable…" Haytham exploded, dragging a hand over his face tiredly. How he wished he was at home, tucking into a delicious roast dinner.

"This is not my fault. You distracted me with your constant whining—" Connor was cut off mid-sentence by his father's incredulous splutter of protest.

"Whining? _Whining?! _That's rich coming from you—"

"Arguing will get us nowhere. I will climb a tree and find out where we are. Wait here." Connor ran full sprint up a tree and hauled himself up so he could start climbing.

Haythem glared for all he was worth before finding a stump and slouching down on it in defeat. The cold air nipped at his face, and he was beginning to lose all feeling in his fingers.

"Connor!" He called, his voice startling a few nearby birds. "Hurry up!"

A dull thump signalled Connor's return, and he set of purposefully, his father right behind him.

"I know where we are now. We will soon be back in New York." Haytham muttered a string of curses as he fought his way through tough shrubbery which seemed out against him. Connor seemed to part a way for himself through the bushes, not getting a scratch on him. Haytham, however, had received a few slaps to the face by thin tree branches that seemed to appear out of nowhere.

He exhaled heavily in relief when they once again found themselves on the bustling streets of New York.

"Never again, Connor." Haytham vowed, massaging his head in exasperation.

Connor only smirked in reply.

"I can assure you, however, that I will be picking our next 'father son' activity." That wiped the smirk right off of Connor's face.


	2. A Night At The Opera

_**AN: A big thanks to noah-vearn, they actually gave me the idea for the whole Opera House thing...not sure if they had those in America but whatever :D big thanks to the other reviews I got, they made me laugh ^^ uh, and yeah this one is kinda more serious than the other one, maybe? Not sure...ah, enjoy.**_

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**The Templar & The Assassin**

**A Night At The Opera**

"How about an evening at the newly opened Opera House, Connor?" Haytham suggested amicably. Connor glanced up and stared blankly at his Father.

"Opera?" He asked hesitantly. He had been anxious about what Haytham would pick for their next outing. Connor had envisioned great many things his Father could have picked, each more equally horrifying than the last.

However, Connor had never been to an Opera before, so perhaps it wouldn't be all too bad…besides, if it was something his Father actually liked doing they might be able to get along just a _little _bit better.

"Come now, you surely know what an Opera is don't you?" Haytham asked distractedly, halting them in their routine walk through New York. The duo had taken to strolling through New York whenever they happened to cross paths, which was nearly every day. They walked at an incredibly slow pace (at least Connor though they did), and Haytham seemed to do most of the talking.

"Of course I know what an Opera is…I have never been to one, however." Connor explained.

"Really? Why didn't you say so? There's a show on tonight that we could go and see. I'll make reservations at once." Haytham exclaimed. Finally, a chance to show his son the finer things in life, and have him dress in something more sophisticated than his Assassin robe.

* * *

"Connor, stop being ridiculous and come out this instant!" Haytham stopped pacing and turned to face his spare bedroom in which Connor had all but barricaded himself in.

"I am not coming out." Connor replied stubbornly. He grimaced at his reflection in the mirror; the outfit he wore was _ridiculous_. He could barely breathe let alone have enough flexibility to move around in it!

He tugged uncomfortably at his collar, and readjusted his waistcoat. His outfit was similar to Haytham's, except it was a lighter shade of blue. The breeches that the tailor had presented to him dug irritatingly into his skin, restricting his movement with its tightness.

"Come out now, Connor!" Haytham demanded, banging none too gently on the door. He was met with silence, and Haytham briefly wondered why he thought this would be a good idea.

"I am not ready yet." Was Connor's reply. He was _not _going out like that.

"Do you need me to come in there and help you?" Haytham asked sarcastically, his patience wearing dangerously low.

Connor deliberated on whether to not to burn the offending outfit and sneak out the window or to just face up to it and show his Father. Upon hearing Haytham complain that they were going to be late, he decided the window option was looking pretty good…

"Raton—Raddon—Raddonragon!" Haytham snapped, stumbling over his son's native name. Connor stopped fumbling about and sighed in defeat. If his Father was willing to make an effort, then he would at least try to as well.

"It's pronounced Ratonhnhaké:ton." Connor muttered, opening the door and striding out purposefully. At his Father's raised eyebrow, he sounded out each syllable; "Ra—doon—ra—gay—doon." Haythem nodded curtly whilst appraising what his son was wearing.

"Connor, you look fine. I honestly don't know what all that fuss was about…" Haytham exclaimed, glad that his son was looking like a respectable member of society.

"No I do not. I hate these clothes. Father, let me wear my Assassin's robe—"

"Absolutely not. Come along now Connor, don't tell me you're _nervous_? We're only visiting the Opera, after all." Smirking in satisfaction at Connor's scowl, they set off to the Opera House.

* * *

"Tickets, please." The dull voice of the ticket collector asked, examining Haytham's tickets before passing them back mechanically. "Tickets, please…" the man's voice faded into the background as they walked in.

Connor had a permanent scowl on his face; he didn't _belong _here. He had more important things to do instead of relaxing at an Opera. Of course, what his Father didn't know was that he had managed to sneak some weapons into his outfit. His two hidden blades were hidden under the sleeves of his outfit; he had a dagger hidden down the side of his boot too.

Smiling, Haytham was very much at home, greeting people politely and stopping every few seconds to talk to someone. Connor felt out of place, people were sending him odd looks and making an effort to stay away from him. If possible, his scowl darkened.

"Father, I am going to find our seats." Connor muttered, the barely perceptible nod was all his Father gave in acknowledgment.

Pushing his way past the crowd that had gathered Connor made a bee-line for his seat.

"Well, look what we have here." Connor glanced up at the man who now blocked his path. He was dressed in similar clothing to everyone else; he didn't stand out as anyone terribly important, though his clothes did suggest that he was a nobleman. His appearance reminded Connor of Charles Lee, and distaste for the man was etched onto his face.

"Excuse me." Connor roughly pushed past him, taking no notice of the man's disgruntled noise.

"Savages like you should go back to where you belong. Where did you get those clothes? Did you steal them? No doubt that you did." The man sneered, leaning closer to get a better look at Connor.

Connor turned around, his muscles tensing in expectation of a fight. The man had an obvious hatred for Native Americans.

"It is people like _you_—" Connor started with every inclination to defend his ideals and to set the obnoxious man straight.

"Is there a problem?" Connor relaxed fractionally at his Father's voice. Haytham glanced between his son and the man who seemed to have a permanent sneer upon his face.

"Of course not." The man spun on his heel, and Connor scowled after him. He wasn't just finished and he made to go after him.

"This is neither the time nor the place." Haytham murmured, forcefully steering Connor to their seats.

Connor's mood had deteriorated greatly; evaporating any traces of excitement he might have felt at going to see the Opera.

"Come now Connor, this will be a wonderful experience for you!" Scowling, Connor hunched into his seat and looked anywhere but his Father. After a few minutes of silence, the younger of the two felt the need to break it.

"What do the Templar's truly seek?" The question threw Haytham off-guard, and he glanced round. Was his son perhaps thinking of abandoning his lost cause and joining a far better cause?

"We seek the same thing you do. Order, purpose, direction. It's your lot that means to confound with this nonsense talk of freedom." The two men glared at each other before the lights dimmed.

"This conversation is not over." Connor sulked.

* * *

"I need the bathroom." Connor whispered, trying not to draw attention to them.

"Then go." Haytham muttered, sending an irritated glare at his son.

"I do not know where it is." Connor bit through clenched teeth.

Haytham huffed inaudibly. "Then go and _find _it."

"But—"

"What, did you want me to hold your hand and offer kind words of encouragement? Perhaps—"

"I get the point." Standing up, Connor squeezed his way past everyone in the rows. He apologized numerous times, clumsily manoeuvring his way past.

Haytham tried to pay attention to the Opera, but the ruckus his son was creating could not be ignored.

_Honestly, how hard is it to be silent? _Haytham thought, eyes once again drawn to Connor. The latter of the two was currently tripping over his own feet in his haste to get past. The many voices of protest that were raised made Haytham raise a hand to his head and message it.

Sometimes it was hard to imagine that Connor was an _Assassin_.

Haytham Kenway glanced down at his pocket watch irritably; where _was _he? His son had been gone for over 15 minutes now, and he was beginning to think that he had escaped.

Movement from above where the private boxes were caught his attention. Connor was slowly and quietly climbing his way down. Haytham rolled his eyes and got up, forcing his way past his row, roughly pushing a man down when he tried to get up.

As soon as Connor had reached the floor whilst (somehow) miraculously not attracting any attention, Haytham dragged him to a quiet corner.

"What on earth were you doing?" he hissed, eyes flashing. "Why were you even up there?"

"I got lost." Connor explained, staring his Father in the eye. Haytham laughed lowly, but then stopped when he realised his son was being serious.

"You got lost…" He repeated incredulously. "…looking for the bathroom?" Connor nodded his head in the affirmative.

"Please, sirs, I'm going to ask you both to sit down or to leave the Opera House, as you are disrupting people nearby." One of the men who worked there had stopped in front of them, arms crossed whilst excluding authority.

"We're not quite done; we'll sit down in a minute." Haytham brushed the man aside, not even glancing at the man as he prepared to lecture Connor.

"_Now_, sir, or I'll be forced to have you removed." The man ordered, his voice low.

Haytham rolled his eyes and quickly stabbed the man with his hidden blade. As the body slumped forwards, he caught it and gently lowered it to the floor, hidden in the dark corner.

"You did not have to kill him!" Connor whisper shouted. He hated having to kill people unnecessarily, something which his Father seemed fond of doing.

"He was bothering us." Haytham offered as if it explained everything. "Come, we should leave before someone realises he's gone missing." As the two exited the Opera house, screams were soon heard.

The body must have been found.

"You did not have to kill him!" Connor protested loudly for the fifth time.

"It was necessary." Haytham retorted.

"No it was not. You killed an innocent man whose only crime was disturbing us!" he shouted, turning angrily to glare at his Father.

"Keep your voice _down_!" Haytham hissed, glancing around at the people who had looked up at the outburst.

The two men walked in silence through New York.

"I was rather looking forward to watching that." Haytham wistfully thought out loud.

"It was not I who killed someone." Connor reminded him sternly, feeling much more comfortable in his Assassin's robe. Haytham chose to ignore him as the wind blew his ponytail about.

They were standing on the roof of Haytham's rather large house, watching the moon. The inhabitants of New York bustled around below them, unaware of the two men who were watching them.

"I will take my leave now, Father." That word still felt foreign in his mouth, as well the feelings that came along with it. Deciding that he didn't want to dwell on the matter, Connor gracefully leapt off the roof. Haytham started forwards, only to remember that there was in fact hay at the bottom.

_Doesn't hurt in case one needs to escape. _He reasoned to himself.

He watched as Connor sprinted across the street before scaling up another house and lithely running across it. The figure paused before turning back to look at Haytham. Although it was too dark to make out any features on Connor's face, Haytham had the odd feeling that the young man was looking right at him.

Unnerved, he leapt of the roof before climbing out the hay, casually brushing any strands off of him. His mind wandered the Connor's mother, the only woman he ever really loved…no, he wasn't going to think about what could have been and what if's. The past was the past, and now he had to look at the present.

Which undoubtedly would include Connor.


	3. Silver Fox

_**AN: Short one, just had to get this idea out before I left the house :D**_

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_**The Templar & The Assassin**_

**The Silver Fox**

Haytham silently cursed to himself as he pushed his way through numerous shrubs. He had vowed to himself that he would never set foot in a forest again after last time, but yet again he found himself following his son as he led him somewhere.

He had long ago stopped trying to remember the route they were going, instead promising himself that he'd give Connor a piece of his mind once they were back in New York.

"Connor, I must confess that I am curious as to where you are taking us." Haytham panted out, the sun hung high up in the sky making the air within the forest stuffy, and as a result Haytham had become uncomfortably hot.

"Not too long." Connor's voice betrayed no fatigue, but the way his quick pace had dwindled down to nearly a slow crawl showed that he was faring no better than Haytham.

They reached a particularly leafy area, the plants came up to their waists. Connor knelt down, motioning for Haytham to do the same.

"I am not going to kneel down with you—" Haytham started, distaste for his current situation etched onto his face.

"Father." Connor glared at him, and Haytham complied with a roll of his eyes and a huff.

"I hope you know I'm not happy about this—" Connor roughly clamped a hand over his Father's mouth and gesture ahead of them.

Haytham strained his eyes, but he could not see anything that would explain why they were kneeling in dirt. The only thing remotely interesting was a medium sized silver fox that was making its way slowly through the forest.

Connor took off his bow and arrow and aimed, one eye closed for better accuracy before he let go of the arrow—silent, fast and deadly. It hit its required target; the silver fox slumped over with a small whimper of surprise.

"A clean kill." Haytham commented, inspecting the animal that lay on the ground.

He watched as Connor knelt down next to it and muttered something in his Native tongue before bringing out a dagger. He gently closed the animal's eyes, a solemn look upon his face.

"For heaven's sake Connor, it's just a fox." Haytham said.

"We must thank Mother Nature for her gift to us." Connor snapped, scowling up at his Father. Haytham chose to say nothing in reply to that, knowing he'd offend his son and they'd get into an argument.

Connor lifted the dagger up and plunged it into the fox just below its neck. He dragged it down its stomach with a sickening squelch before systematically removing its skin.

"What in God's name are you doing?!" Haytham exclaimed, nose wrinkled.

"Either make yourself useful or be quiet." Connor murmured, not once looking up.

Haytham's temper flared and he drew himself up haughtily, "How do you propose I make myself useful, hm? I am certainly not assisting you with…with whatever you're doing." He sneered.

"Go and see if there is a stream nearby." Connor commanded, finally glancing up at his Father.

The two men stared at each other before the older of them stormed away, muttering and searing under his breath.

"Oh, and Father?" Haythem turned around, wary of the smirk he could practically hear in his son's voice.

"What?"

"Don't get lost." Connor flashed him a smirk as Haytham glared and marched away.

"I found one not too far—Connor! Really, what _are _you doing?" Haytham stared appalled at the mess his son had made; all that was left of the fox were its internal organs and bones. Connor held its silvery fur coat in his hands, blood pooling beneath him.

"Lead the way."

Haytham watched in mild disgust as Connor carefully washed all the blood away from the fur. He flapped it about in the wind, and upon deciding it was dry enough, approached Haytham.

"What are you doing now?" Haytham asked, warily eyeing the _thing _Connor was currently offering to him. He looked down at it and then back to Connor. "What do you expect me to do with it?" He asked.

Connor rolled his eyes and draped it over his Father's neck.

"Do you like it?" He asked.

Haytham twitched, and resisted the urge to fling it into the river. There had to be a logical reason as to why Connor had decided to drape it over him.

"It reminds me…of years ago, when your mother would _insist _on draping an assortment of fur over me." He twitched again as he realised his clothes would be ruined. They were expensive too.

Connor perked up at the mention of his mother, and watched as Haytham stroked it hesitantly before his eyes flashed to meet Connor's.

"Well, how does it look?" He asked, standing regally with it.

"It matches your hair." Connor replied bluntly.

"Are you implying that my hair—"

"I am implying nothing, merely making an observation…" Connor snickered quietly.

"Oh, really now? You are so childish." Haytham retorted, leading the way back to New York, though he wasn't really sure where he was going.

"I am not childish, just because I damaged your pride—"

"Damaged my pride? Ha, it'll take a lot more than that to do so. Just because you know I'm right." Haytham snorted in reply.

"So you are implying that I—"

"I was merely making an observation." Haytham smirked, and Connor sent him a look. The two continued to bicker well into the evening, finally stopping when they reached the outskirts of New York.

"Good bye, Father." Connor called, sprinting away.

Haytham tipped his head and walked towards his house, ignoring the curious stares directed at him.

He hadn't removed the silver fox.


End file.
